Beautiful People
by OldManDempsey
Summary: A jaded, cynical, and recently divorced Nakai Hisao is simply looking to stumble through what time he has left, when a piece of his past suddenly calls to him, forcing him to re-live and re-think parts of his life, and look at the world around him with new eyes. Takes place years after the Rin Bad-End.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This one is going to be a bit tricky. I'm trying a few new things, but they are mostly shrouded in what I usually do. I gotta confess (well, not really, if you've read my profile), I really do love them hard-boiled stories. Still, this fic kinda worries me. I usually try to break the norm whenever I tamper with a particular "universe," or however you want to put it, but I might be pushing it this time. Still, I don't think I am going to stop, because I feel like I am continuing parts of the _theme,_ in a way, or at least what I took from it. I feel that justifies this, and strangely, I feel oddly compelled to write this one. I've kind of wanted to do a story like this. Oh, and show that I'm paying attention to criticism. I really meant it when I said I was going to try harder, and I actually want to be a better writer. So, lemme know your thoughts.

Here we go.

* * *

It was another lonely day, going to be followed by another lonely night. I puffed on my cigarette, watching the smoke start hot then fan out and disappear against the fading sky. I was dressed as nothing special, and feeling about the same. I was looking to slouch into a booth at Jay's bar, sipping a beer or two to pass the time. I wasn't going to look for a girl or chat with a friend. I think I wanted to be alone, but surrounded by people as well, so I wouldn't feel completely disconnected from the world.

The sidewalk reflected the sky a bit, looking slick from the recent rain, slightly silver and metallic. The sky was changing from blue to orange to red, causing the remaining clouds to kaleidoscope as well. The cityscape looked slightly gilded. The colors managed to look both vibrant and subdued, caught in that strange time right before sunset. It all looked unreal, like a painting. The walk passed by the river, with that being on my left, and various businesses and apartments stacked tall on my right. Mostly everyone was over on the walk close to the city, and the few that were riverside with me all seemed to be going in the other direction.

Jay's wasn't going to be lively for a few more minutes, but there was already someone outside, drying off the chairs out front, getting ready for happy hour. Inside was always warm, but it never felt stuffy. Nearly everything was carved out of wood, and the soft glow of the lights gave it a homey kind of feel. You halfway expected to see a fireplace in the corner. What you did get was a large antique wooden radio. Someone was fiddling with the knobs with a look of discontent concentration, switching from the news, to several dramas, before finally landing on the game he wanted with a soft smile. He walked back over to his chums next to the old pool tables. There'd been talk of replacing them, being that they were starting to show some wear, but it hadn't happened yet. On the other side, the right, by me, was the jukebox. It didn't have any glaring lights, it didn't scream anything at you, jumping up and down like a kid craving attention. It was mature and reserved, playing calm music. "Six Blade Knife," by Dire Straights. The owner apparently had it set up that way, and for that, I dedicated my first beer to him.

By the end of the first, I had only read about a page of the book I brought. Jay's was starting to get busy, and I started to wonder if I was going to be forced to share my booth. I liked the people where they were.

"Excuse me, sir? Do you mind if we seat someone with you?"

Apparently the management didn't. Smarmy bastard already had the first beer, and I couldn't take it back. "Sure, that's fine."

A few seconds later, a man dressed as gray as I felt slid across from me. He fumbled with some manilla envelopes as he sat down, giving them a hard look. His hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a blue tie stuck in his gray suit, the latter making him look as angular as my guesses about his personality. He gave me a quick nod and a small smile, then ordered a sandwich and coffee from the waitress. After she left, he spoke, "Hey, thanks."

"It's no big deal."

"Believe it or not, it is. I hate stools."

"Yeah." I sipped at my beer.

He chuckled, "Besides, it's not good to drink by yourself."

"Or dine, I guess." I tried to ignore him, paying more attention to Link Wray throwing notes of "Jack the Ripper" at me. The guy's food arrived, and he ate, cleanly. That was the only way to describe it. Not one crumb hit the table, and the napkin was at his mouth before I could see anything hanging off of it. It was sort of impressive, I guess. After he was done, he sipped at another cup of coffee, and then started smacking a new pack of cigarettes against his palm. I eyed them hungrily.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked nicely.

"No."

"Very good, and thanks again." He didn't open them though. He just kept tapping them against his palm.

"I mind that, though," I said while nodding at the pack.

"Mind what?" He didn't miss a beat. Literally, it sounded like a metronome to the music.

"Never mind." I sighed it more than I said it. It didn't seem to phase him at all. He asked, "So, you come here often?"

My eyebrow was up. I wondered if it was going to get stuck like that, just the way mother said. "Y-yeah..."

He waved a hand around, "I've never been here, but I've heard about it. I kinda like it, it feels, I don't know, what's the word?"

"Homey, I guess."

He snapped his fingers, making me cringe a bit. I started to feel like I was losing this conversation. The man's presence seemed to be looming over me, "That's it! Though, I guess a sandwich isn't too homey, eh?"

"Anything can make you feel like home."

"So it's like a state of mind, then?"

"Sure."

"How poetic!" I swear I could see every one of his teeth. I was depressed by how they were whiter than mine and that I took the minute to notice that. "Wow! That's really something!" He chuckled to himself. I half-lunged for my glass. That only got him to focus his attention, "Do you write?"

"What gave you that idea?" He pointed at my book, and I shook my head, "No, and I don't have any intention of doing so."

"Ah, but you have some interest in the arts then, I would guess." I started to get worried. Why was he so hell-bent on starting a conversation with me? He answered that thought, but not in what seemed like a truthful way, "I'm more interested in the visual arts, but I would love to read more." He looked up from packing his cigarettes, and asked me lightly, while looking somewhat playfully at me, "You know anything about art?"

I kept our eyes locked for a minute. When I broke them, I slowly sipped at my beer, "No."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

A small smile played on his face, keeping with his slight jovial tone, "You sure?"

I licked beer foam off my lips, "I know what it does to people."

He leaned back, a quiet chuckle escaping as he did so, "I hate to repeat myself, but I have to ask, are you sure you don't know anything about art, then?"

"What I know I'd hardly call artistic."

"What if someone wrote a book, or something?"

"I'd call it depressing."

His laughs got a little bit louder. "Very good, very good indeed. A bit melodramatic, but nonetheless."

"Thanks. Maybe I should try out for open mic night."

"Now, now, don't get too ahead of yourself. You still need a bit of work." He reached into his jacket, and pulled out one of the manilla envelopes. "Speaking of which, what do you do?"

"Apart from stumble through a divorce and chatting it up with strangers? Medical research."

He snapped his fingers again, "That's right. Medical research. Very impressive for someone with arrhythmia."

I had been sipping my beer. I put it down with a light thunk on the wood. I didn't say anything. It was fine to us both. I was being polite, and he apparently wanted to show off. We all have to take our little victories when we can. I figured I had no right to deny him his.

He put the envelope down, and folded his hands on it, locking eyes with me again. The smile was still on his face, but he managed to carry an air of professionalism, "Running the floor at a hospital after school with a dangerous condition that only gets _more_ dangerous with physical exertion makes one wonder. But, hey, the meds have gotten better over time, right?" He added the last word after a very brief pause.

I nodded. He buzzed, "You managed to wow people, despite the fact that I wasn't the only one to wonder about you during your steady rise. But, you got married, even if for only three years. No kids, though." He paused again. "I won't ask why." I wondered if he already knew why. "Still, you work as hard as ever. No real change, actually." He regarded the envelope again. He picked it up, and pulled out the contents, but I couldn't see anything.

I snorted, "My wife hire you or something? I'm afraid you're going to be very disappointed. I never had the stomach for cheating." Or the heart. Take that one as you will.

He shook his head, "No, your wife has nothing to do with this. Actually, very few people you know have anything to do with this."

"I didn't know I was so popular."

He gave me a knowing smile, and looked as if he was going to say something. After a second, "You weren't very popular until a woman dropped your name a few weeks back." He finally started to peel open the pack, "She wasn't in a very good state. She's an artist."

"Sounds depressing."

"Hah! It kind of was, actually. The people I work for have me occasionally... in the same room as her. That was one of those times." He sipped from his mug, "Some one dropped something in her drink."

"Like I said, depressing."

He ignored me, "I had to watch her all night, make sure that she stayed awake until it was safe. It got pretty bad. She isn't one for drugs. She says all they do is let her thoughts run wild, and she has a hard enough time as it is keeping them corralled."

"'I don't do drugs, I am drugs.'"

He tipped his coffee at me, "Exactly."

"Brevity is also the soul of wit."

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there. I remember watching her try to pick up a glass of water. She couldn't do it for the life of her. I asked her if she needed help, you see, but she said she didn't. She said she was stuck with some feelings, and she needed to live through them as best she could, to exercise them. More my words then hers, but you asked me to keep this brief." He looked up at the ceiling, letting his mind wander back to that scene, "She said she felt like Hisao. Like Nakai Hisao." He smiled at me. I felt like I was sitting waist-deep in centipedes. "Naturally, because I am finding myself rather limited, my employers asked me to seek you out, to see if you could help. I keep running into obstacles, mainly people who don't want to deal with me or who I represent."

I felt a tic in my eye, "Just what do you need me for?"

He stuck a smoke in his mouth, lit it, leaned back, and said, "Tezuka Rin has gone missing."

I reached for his pack without asking. He didn't do anything about it. He even lit it for me. What a nice guy. Throws you out a ten-story window, then helps you to your feet. I cracked my knuckles, and spoke to them more than anything else, "And what the hell does that have to do with me? I haven't seen her since high-school."

He shrugged, "She said _your_ name. That has to mean something. You were her high-school sweetheart, weren't you?"

I mulled that over. I mulled over what would happen if I said yes. "Sort of. We weren't that close."

"I heard different."

"Everything's subjective when it comes to this. Sure, I was there. But I also wasn't. Things ended pretty bad."

"Still, she remembered you, enough through the haze she was in. Plus, didn't you help her get her start?"

I grabbed my head in my hands, "So what?"

"So, _I_ can't get close. You were a friend, and probably more than that. Maybe she doesn't want to be found, Nakai."

I gave him a puzzled look, "Why would that be?"

The suit looked troubled, "Her work started to get very strange over the last year. She didn't like it herself, and others started to think the same. She said she wanted a break, so, we let her have it. Then, she disappeared."

"Who's 'we?'"

"People who have backed her up over the years. We're the best chance she has at staying successful, so naturally, we're worried."

That didn't make much sense when it came to its face value. Still, I sighed, "I'll... I'll think about it. She's not in danger, is she?"

"We don't think so, but if you think she is, tell us right away." He pushed the envelope over to me, and I pocketed it. "I said I'll think about it," I practically growled. He just shrugged again, "Well, let us know. Good night, Nakai."


	2. Chapter 2

Holy crap, I hope this doesn't suck. WHY DO I GET SO DAMN NERVOUS THESE DAYS?!

Also, this is getting really, _really_ depressing. I think I'm gonna watch a movie full of cheesy one liners and explosions.

* * *

It had been two days. I hadn't gone to work in two days.

I was having a staring contest with a bottle of whiskey. Every time I blinked, I took a shot. I needed to sleep. I didn't want to think anymore. I had thought for two whole days. Thinking hurt.

Remembering hurt.

I didn't know why. So I thought. And thought. Then started drinking.

Why? Why did I care? Tezuka walked off? Good for her. She'd walked out on a lot of things. She walked from school, walked from her friends, and walked from me.

No.

Yes. I didn't leave. She was already gone. Maybe she was never there in the first place. I was just standing there, not wanting to believe it. I shouted at myself. Someone needed to. The screams bounced off a brick wall and rung in my ears.

I blinked. I knocked the bottle onto the carpet. Whatever. I got back in the chair. Everything was coming in snapshots, like I wasn't really there, and someone was handing them to me after the fact. I was too busy. Too busy thinking. I was good at thinking. I got good when I was in the hospital. There was no one else but me. My thoughts were better than conversation, because I had spent more time thinking on the situation than anyone else. For them, it was just this thing that would creep into their minds in between activities. Everything would go into a lull, and then there was Hisao. But something would pop up. Later, Hicchan.

What'd she know? Huh? What did she _know?_ Oh, I'm not perky today. I'm sorry, it's just that I can die at any time. I try not to think about it, because when I do, I get excited, and then I might _die._ That mean anything to you? You know what it's like? You ever get worried about sneezing? Your heart stops when you sneeze, y'know. Don't tell me to quit smoking. Don't you dare. I only have so much time, who gives a damn.

All right, I'm sad. I'm pissed. I'm tired. I want my life back. I feel like I'm surrounded by broken wind-up toys, all walking around with only one leg working, stuck in eternal circles, smiles forcefully painted on their faces as they bang cymbals together like trained monkeys. The sound washes over and drowns out the screams. I'm choking on green paint being forced down my throat. It dries, it cakes, and I cough up dust. It covers my vision, and I can't see my own reflection.

But I did. I saw it holding itself up over the bathroom sink, hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, and stubble on its chin. I looked at my ring-finger. At some point I cut it. I vaguely remembered trying to shave.

Back at the table. Holding an envelope. The pieces are coming together, the picture might be there. But I still have to put it together. I spread them out over the table. A few pictures of Tezuka. A few pictures of paintings. Some notes. Time-line. Places, cafes, clubs, galleries.

Did any of it mean anything? Was there any point to this?

What was I looking for?

Could I even find it?

That was the last thing I thought before I found the bed. I had no dreams. I had run my mind empty. It was pretty pissed at me when I woke up. I stumbled over to the sink and gulped at water, then grabbed the phone and a card that the man from yesterday, Katagiri Kaji, had left me. I looked at them for a good minute, then put them both down on the counter, took a shower, dressed, and went out for breakfast. I was absolutely starving, but I felt I couldn't make anything for myself. The waitress asked if I was okay. I was puzzled, but she quickly explained that I looked very upset. I was going through a divorce, right? I went to answer, but she added that I looked more upset than I usually did. Apparently, I almost always looked troubled. I still tipped her.

I went back to my new apartment and started cleaning it. I started to pull out stuff that I hadn't unpacked yet. I opened the windows and sprayed some air freshener, trying to cover up the stench of the spilled whiskey. I shaved. I looked at Katagiri's card again, and figured I would go get a hair cut. The barber kept telling me unfunny jokes. At some point, I got real sick of it, but I still managed to be polite when I asked him to stop. He said okay, I was the customer, he just thought I looked a little blue. I always tip my barber. I'm a regular moneybags.

Walking back, I stubbed my toe on a small raised part of the sidewalk and fell almost right on my face. I spat curses at the walk, even punched it. That'll teach it. As I was getting up, I spotted a dandelion. Then another. And another and another. They were all reaching up towards the sun through cracks, and you could almost hear their strain. I got up and kicked one in half, then headed back home.

I ended up sitting at my kitchen table, not thinking much about anything. After maybe twenty minutes, I grabbed up the phone and started pouring through my old classmates' profiles on various social sites. I found who I was looking for, and called her up. She picked up in the middle of a kid screaming in the background, asking them to be quiet, that mommy was on the phone, she would be right back. Then, sounding tired, Ibarazaki said, "Hello?"

"Emi? It's Nakai."

"Na... Hisao! Oh my God, how are you?!"

I chuckled. She was the same as always, it seemed. "Fine, fine, how are you?"

"What?! That's it? 'Fine?' Come on, Hisao, we haven't talked in years, there's got to be a big reason!"

"Heh, there is, but I think we should warm up a bit before throwing it all out there."

She huffed, but it didn't sound too serious. "Well, I'm great! Mostly. Our smallest here needs a bit of attention. He can be so fussy." She giggled.

"Don't worry, I won't take up too much of your time. I'm glad to hear that you're well."

"Well enough," she giggled again. "I need to get back out there, and lose a bit of weight. Ugh, three kids. I took a hell of a beating. I still don't actually have a job, yet," she said, sounding a little guilty. "We'll be fine, though. I do really want to get back out there."

"Back running?"

"And working, mostly working. I love being with the kids, but I need to pull a little weight around here. I've been lazy long enough."

"You're the last person I'd ever call lazy, Emi. Your old job won't take you back?"

"They probably will, but I'm not taking chances. No way in hell. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" She cooed this at who I assumed was her youngest.

"Language, Ibarazaki."

"Hey, my children will be fine, upstanding members of society who don't take any crap from anyone." We both chuckled at that. "What about you, Hisao? Any little Hicchans running around yet?"

"No, ah, no. I... I actually just got divorced."

"Div...? Oh. Well, I'm sorry to hear that." She started to sound a bit suspicious. I moved to allay her concerns, "Yeah, well, it was for the best. It wasn't too horrible, it was more like... we just didn't see eye to eye, I guess. Heh, I'm kinda glad there weren't any kids caught up in it."

"Uh-huh," she said dryly. Smooth, Nakai. I should have asked for her sign while I was at it.

I cleared my throat, "Well, that's not really why I called. Emi, have you heard from Tezuka? From Rin?"

"What? What do you want with her?" The suspicion now had an edge of hostility. Two strikes.

"Nothing, I'm just a bit worried about her. Have you heard anything about her? Anything at all?"

"No, Nakai, nothing. She just dropped off the face of the earth right after high-school. I heard she was painting full-time and making a name for herself. No time for me, I guess. Why are you asking?"

"You don't know where she is?"

"What is this about?"

I scratched at my chin. I couldn't make out if she knew anything about Tezuka vanishing. I gritted my teeth, and took a shot in the dark, "Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but someone just came by asking about her today."

She inhaled sharply, "You're kidding, right?"

"Afraid not."

She paused for a minute, weighing her options. "You know, someone strange called me the other day, asking about Tezuka."

"Yeah, I figured that. You didn't see him? It was a him, right?"

"Yeah, it was a him, but I didn't ever see him, it was just that one phone call. He actually came to you?"

I said yes and described Katagiri, leaving out his name. I wanted her to be on the look out, but not rope me in with Katagiri. "He asked me all sorts of questions about Tezuka. Emi... I don't like this."

"Well, what are you going to do about it? It's not like you and Rin are, well, still friends, even."

"You're right, we're not. Things ended bad, you know that. But that still doesn't mean I'm not worried. This guy looked like serious business, and," I thought hard for a moment, "I just wanted to figure out what it was all about."

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

She sighed, and spoke sincerely, "I don't know anything. Nothing at all. I'm sorry. But Hisao, it's not like we can do anything, right? What would we accomplish?"

I stared out the window at the sidewalk, at the dandelions still clawing at the sky. "I don't know. Well, thanks Emi. Say hi to your kids and husband for me."

She giggled, "You've never even _met_ them."

"Just do it for me, okay?"

"All right. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

I hung up, and looked over the info Katagiri gave me, more pushing it around on the table then anything else. I got up and made some coffee, went out quick for a pack of smokes, then started going over the list of places I had. They were all pretty much in the same city, which was Tokyo, and all pretty much in the same ward. Tezuka wouldn't be able to go far without help. Well, maybe that was a little condescending. I'm pretty sure she could hop on a train if she wanted to. Maybe even a plane. No. Even though she was a free spirit, so to speak, Tezuka was always next to someone... in a way. She painted, and she could have painted alone, but she went to the Art Club. Clubs weren't mandatory in Yamaku. Yeah, she needed paints and other things, but Emi could have helped her with that. But she didn't get along the best with Emi, right? She still had a bag, and one of the clerks at whatever stores she frequented could have loaded it for her. So no, she had other reasons to go to the Art Club. I smacked my head, thinking about how old and juvenile my personal information was before pulling myself back. That _was_ important. The blind boy. I remembered the blind boy. Tezuka was looking for something, maybe getting disenfranchised, but at the same time, looking for something. Maybe she didn't find it, and got lethargic, just going there to do something. But even still, if all that were true, maybe she still hadn't left Tokyo. I knew from experience it took monumental amounts of effort in order to make her do anything, to go anywhere. It fit with why Katagiri would come to me. I was highly doubting that he believed I'd actually go jet-setting in my search for Tezuka. Hell, there's no way that I would. But it was entirely feasible for me to take some time off work and search locally, at least, somewhat locally. I wouldn't have much time, but still, that made sense. I'd probably just end up stumbling around, rousing the sediment, so to speak, and then he would find her.

I got up and poured another cup of coffee. I drank it down, then picked up the phone again, finally calling Katagiri. "I'll do it. I'll leave today."

"Excellent."

"I have to put in for some time at my job. They'll probably give it to me, I've been a good little boy, like you said. It'll take me an hour to get there."

"To where Tezuka last was?"

"Yup."

There was a pause before Katagiri spoke next, "You do know _where_ in the city, right?"

"Well... mostly." I felt his stare even over the telephone. "All right, I'll be honest, I don't know Tokyo all that well."

"But, Nakai, I figured you would be at least _somewhat_ familiar with Tokyo, especially with your work."

"Yeah, yeah, economic powerhouse, edge of technology, booming cultural scene, I know, but I try to avoid it."

"Why?"

"It's crowded and I can't understand what half the people are saying."

"Ah." He cleared his throat.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be well enough. I grew up in a city, and I live in one currently. Tokyo's more than a bit different, but it's still in Japan."

"Very well. Actually, I'm in the city myself, at this moment, and so is my employer. I don't think you'll be able to find much after the sun goes down, so why not join us for dinner?"

"Your boss wanna check up on me?"

Katagiri chuckled. "More or less. Plus, we feel we should compensate you somewhat for agreeing to this."

"Uh-huh. Alright, but I think I should head out at night, too. I get the feeling that most of that 'scene' will be night-owls. Call it a hunch."

Katagiri spoke firmly, "Don't burn yourself out, Nakai. You're no good if you can't function, and I know you're going to find this offensive no matter how nice I put it, but you're not any good to us dead, either. We don't want to be responsible or connected to anything terrible happening."

"It's no problem, just use my fee to cover the funeral expenses. I have plain tastes, so don't worry about it. Us logical types are very utilitarian."

"Please don't make any jokes like that. And about getting dues..."

I cut the sentence neatly in half, "What if I'm spotted talking to you tonight? You already said yourself that you people don't really mix with _those _people, there's just a load of grinding and sparks. Us logical types also hate frivolities."

Katagiri laughed, "Don't worry, Nakai. It will be a rather 'exclusive' venue, no one will either see or disturb us."

"Ah, that's right, I'm popular. I'll see you later then." He bid farewell and I hung up promptly. Very utilitarian.

I packed some of the stuff I unpacked in a suitcase or two. I had no idea how long it was going to take. I managed to snag two weeks of vacation time from my job, and they just kept telling me how much they understood, which was really nothing at all, when I thought about it. I was lucky, and grabbed a train right before it left. I slouched in the seat, cracking open a copy of The Great Gatsby. I was going through a western literature phase. I always chuckled at the first actual spoken line from Tom Buchanan, "I've got a nice place here." Fitzgerald lulled me to sleep, and I almost missed the stop.


	3. Chapter 3

Tokyo is a massive mess spread out over 2,325 km². It's almost its own world, despite the fact that it's so... _Japan._ Yes, that's a strange way to put it, but it's the_ only _way to put it. The whole city is an interconnected web of contradictions, both real, as well as only a contradiction at a glance. Maybe the same can be said of Hong Kong, or London, or New York. Tokyo is also the head of pretty much anything art-related in Japan; it's the beating heart of our culture, if you will... and if you are the easily persuaded type. But no matter how many one-liners I threw around, I still had one huge problem ahead of me: there is no centralized "art" district, or gathering, or commune, or what have you, _anywhere _in Tokyo_._ It's just all over the place, several hotspots, but all incredibly far apart. Walking around was out of the question, so I was definitely going to get well acquainted with the rail system. Tezuka sure picked a hell of a place to disappear. Typical of her; when wasn't she playing "hard-to-get?"

I ended up grabbing a room in a hotel that Katagiri suggested. It was pretty cheap, but not too dirty, and the staff looked trustworthy enough. Not that I had taken anything too valuable anyway; I had just thrown in whatever I spotted right before I ran out. I didn't bother unpacking much, leaving the bulk of my things still in their bags. I wanted to get started as soon as possible, while the trail was still warm. It was late in the morning when I headed out to the first place on Katagiri's list. I had to use the navigation app on my phone to find it. I spent I don't know how long with my nose rubbing against the screen, bumping into the occasional person, getting a stare when riding the bus, or when nearly walking straight into a tree. Pfft, the trees; the damn things were everywhere, apparently a part of some project to ease the amount of greenhouse gasses, but I still felt like I was walking through solid matter. I actually remembered that there had been plenty of trees before, anyway. Plus, Tokyo wouldn't be Tokyo without that feeling you've been wrapped up in whale blubber.

I rubbed my face, lit a cigarette, and tried to think positive; my current train of thought was going nowhere except to the bottom of a glass. There would be plenty of time for that later. Once I had regained my composure, I put my phone away and stood in front of my destination, a gallery called "Avenue." I looked up at the sign above the doorway, written out entirely in English characters, and chuckled to myself. I brought up my hands, let them drop, striking the sides of my legs, said, "So," then shook my head. So. Heh. _So,_ there I was, dependent as ever on science to function, standing in front of a gallery named after a location (and still just as lost), glaring at the too-bright world with narrowed bloodshot eyes, and I didn't have one goddamn nice thing to say about anyone or anything, especially myself. Someone once told me that even when you lose, you still gain the lesson. I remembered brushing him off, but what I should have done was ask what to do when confronted with a losing streak. I pinched out my umpteenth cigarette and stepped inside.

The gallery was nothing special, but larger than I first thought. There were odd corners and angles everywhere because the walls seemed to be placed at random, creating rooms of various sizes. There were no doors, though, so the atmosphere felt very open, making it easier to wander, or more like "flow" through the gallery. The walls were white, there were paintings, sculptures, and what have you. It was exactly as you would expect it to be.

To the left of the entrance was a small desk with a fashionably dressed man sitting behind it, reading a magazine. He looked up at me only once, his eyes darting up and down, evaluating and calculating. Apparently all I was worth was a quick, "Welcome," before he went back to his magazine. I looked at what he was reading, then saw there were more sitting on a rack by the desk. I walked up to the man, clearing my throat. I'm sure he tried his very best to nicely quip, "What?"

"How much for the magazine?"

"They're free."

I grabbed one, "Is it any good?"

"What?"

"The magazine." I flipped through it, "Looks like they talk a lot about art and galleries and such. Do they know what they are talking about?"

"Yeah, there's a lot of good info in there, it'll help you get your bearings."

"Heh, so it's written all over my face?"

He gave me another once-over, then, while opening up his magazine, "And stitched in your clothes."

I laughed. I laughed, and didn't stop for a while. It sounded a bit goofy, mostly because it was fake, but after a moment, I really did start to get amused by the man's annoyed expression. He finally turned to me, and I said, "Oh me, oh my. Very good. And people call me the comedian."

He gave me a sardonic smile, "So I take it you need help?"

"Yes, I need help finding the more abstract stuff."

"Try Berlin."

"Berlin?"

He nodded. I moved to ask him for directions, but a hand gently touched my elbow. I turned and saw it belonged to a young woman in a sharp suit. She peered at me through flashy glasses, "What was that you were looking for?"

"Something abstract," I said. "More like abstract paintings."

The woman seemed to be generally thinking hard for me, and I was honestly impressed. The woman flashed me a smile, "You looked so lost, I figured I would try to help you out. It's not easy getting into art."

"Yeah, you don't say," I said. The guy behind the desk grunted, probably thinking the remark had been about him. I spoke to the woman, but loud enough for him to hear, "So, I take it he's someone's cousin or something?"

Her face didn't show it much, but I could tell she was holding in a chuckle. She motioned me away, and once we were out of earshot, "Close. It's nephew." Then she did chortle, adding, "You're lucky it wasn't son."

"Son would have had the police on me in a second."

She gave me a look, "You do this often?"

"What, mouth off? Sort of. I picked up the habit near the end of high school. You learn a thing or two as time goes on."

"And do you know anything about art?"

No quick one for that. "Not so much. I used to know someone who did. So, I don't know... I just decided to check it out."

By the look on her face that was either the lamest or craziest answer to that question. She drew a breath, "Well... all right. Everyone starts somewhere, I guess. You said something about abstraction?"

"Abstract paintings, yes."

She knit her eyebrows together, "Hmm, well, abstraction isn't all that common in Japan. I mean, yes, there's lots of abstract paintings, but not really too many abstract artists in Japan. The number is growing, but in a gallery like this, you aren't going to be so lucky. That's probably why he told you to try Berlin."

"What's in Berlin?"

She pondered, then said, "Germans, I hear."

"You'd think a place for the arts would come up with something more creative."

She laughed, and I laughed with her. "Oh, let me have my fun," she said. "And try not to mind him so much. He's still pretty young, and can be pretty hard-headed. He doesn't understand that anyone can enjoy art. So, speaking of which, why abstraction? I mean, I'm not too sure if you're looking to purchase a piece or not, but even so, art is a big investment."

"Big investment?"

She nodded gravely, "Yes, and more than just financially. Sure, a lot of these pieces cost a lot, but remember that you're going to be looking at them for a long while. And even if you're not here to buy, you should make sure you follow or give interest to works that really speak to you, or otherwise things will just fizzle out. Don't ever pick anything just because so-and-so said it was good. Ugh, I hate people like that. You should have a pretty good reason before getting into anything, and at any level." She stuck out her chest, "That shows that you have some sort of integrity."

"Integrity, eh? Well...," I broke up my speech, and scratched my chin, "...Well, I saw some pictures of some of... Tezuma? No, wait, _Tezuka._ Yeah, Tezuka Rin's work. That looked pretty interesting."

"Ah, yes, I know of her. Actually, I think we still have some of her works. Which ones did you see?"

"Well... ah... I don't really remember the names."

"Oh, were they some of her 'Nameless' ones?"

"I don't... I don't know."

"Well, what did they look like?"

I honestly wondered for a minute if there was an actual way to describe Rin's paintings in words. I still gave it a shot, "Erm... abstract?" I couldn't look her in the eyes. "And... interesting."

Oh, shut up. I'd like to see you try.

"Oh... well...," she nodded very slowly, "Oooookay. This way."

The place wasn't crowded, so we both talked as loud as we wanted, at least within reason. As we walked, she pointed out one thing or another, never diving too deep, instead waiting to see if I was really interested. It was both polite and slightly unnerving. She was trying her hardest to be informative, but at the same time, judging my reactions to every new piece of information. I guess it wasn't all that bad; she just wanted to be sure that I was satisfied.

It didn't take long to find Rin's things. There weren't that many of them, and while they weren't up front, they weren't stuffed away in the back, either. The woman waved her arm across the pictures slowly, "Well, here we are."

I hate to sound like a broken record, but I didn't know what to think. Sure, you would think that would be the normal reaction, but this definitely wasn't a normal situation. The woman had been smiling, but it was slowly faltering, "Ah, not... not really what you wanted, is it?"

"Shh."

That put her off somewhat, "Excuse me?"

I shook my head, but didn't turn away from the paintings, "I'm sorry, but could you... could you be quiet for just a moment? I know this isn't the nicest way to ask, but this..." Well, what the hell could I say? Anything more would give away what I was really doing, that I knew more than I was letting on. It would even tell that I was personally involved with Tezuka at one point.

She nodded, then turned her gaze back to the paintings, "Yes, I'm sorry. I understand, you need to concentrate, that was foolish of me."

"No," I said, barely able to keep my words in check, "It's that this is so, well, _different_ than anything I've seen before. Even... just, even... it's just so jarring."

She nodded gravely, "Yes, rather off-putting, isn't it? She doesn't do this often, but every once and a while, her works tend to get like this. There's a few scattered throughout her career, and we've sold a few, but, well, you're feeling firsthand what a lot of others did. I'm not too sure what brings this on in her, but sometimes, I guess she just needs to get..."

"Violent." I licked my lips as I said it.

"Um, yes, you could say that." She fidgeted.

I took a few steps away from her and towards the paintings. I don't even know where to begin when it comes to describing them in detail, and I'm actually kind of glad that I can't. Rin had painted people contorted in strange ways before, and maybe even in painful ways, but these were images of sheer agony. There was no other way to say it. A lot of the colors were muted, and many ran together, with everything somewhat merged into each other, so that it was hard to tell when one part of the painting ended and another began. There was nothing free or separate. One other thing that seemed to feature in the three that were before us was that they all seemed to be indoor "scenes." It wasn't hard to tell what was going on there. All of the subjects˗ because that was the only word I can come up with for the... "main parts" of each painting˗ were locked inside. As for everything else, I could only see that agony. I stepped closer to one of the paintings, narrowing my eyes and focusing on one small part at a time. Whatever the hell I was looking at seemed to have many arms, at least eight, and some of them were all reaching into another part of "it" and ripping pieces out. There were many faces, all looking like they were captured mid-scream. Some of the arms were holding what looked like spot-lights. The part that really got to me though, the part I'll never forget, was that it looked like everything was eating each other.

My vision started to swim, and I took a shaky step back. I felt the woman's hands on my shoulders, and she asked if I was all right. I said I was, but I would like to take a seat. There happened to be a bench nearby, so we sat, still facing the paintings. She asked me again if I was all right, and I said, "I just don't get what was going through her mind. I can't believe _she _of all people did this. It's so unlike her. Those are so _angry,_ and I've never seen her get to that point._"_

"What?"

I stiffened, realizing I had just gaffed, but I could still salvage it, "I mean, compared to everything else she's done. There's, erm, feeling, but not like _that."_

The woman sighed, "Yes, I know." She seemed rather upset. I asked her what was wrong, and she kept brushing me off, but she did finally crack, "Look, this is going to sound really, _really_ shallow, but this is all the Tezuka Rin we have left, we might not get another one, at least for a while, and the damn things won't sell." She threw up her hands for a second before plopping them back in her lap, "I mean, yes, they're actually pretty amazing, I mean, I've never seen one person look at them and not be affected, and that is definitely _something_, but good God." She bowed her head in exasperation.

I chuckled, "I think I understand where you are coming from. Maybe. It's all right though, I won't judge you."

She smiled at me, "Thanks. Now if I could just get you to pay my rent for me..."

"At least take me out to dinner first."

She scoffed, "I thought that was my line."

"It's the twenty-first century, be a good modern girl and take charge. And pay."

"Don't worry, dear, mother will take care of everything."

We chuckled, and she seemed to brighten up. As much as I hated to spoil things just as they were getting sunnier, I motioned to the painting I had been closely inspecting, "What is the name of that one anyway? I see there's a little plaque, but..."

"But you don't want to go near it. Gotcha." She stretched and stood up, "It's called 'Beautiful People.'"

"'Beautiful People?'"

She shrugged, "A lot of Tezuka's work has been viewed as satirical. I think it's supposed to be about the movie or modeling industries, I don't know." She smiled sheepishly, "I know that wasn't the most eloquent way to put it, sorry."

"I like a more relaxed atmosphere, you could drop the pretenses and I'd be just fine. Satirical, huh?" She shrugged. I was more than a little confused. Tezuka had her opinions on things, but somehow I didn't picture her sitting around with a bunch of experts, pipe in her mouth, talking about the current state of the economy or whatever. Who would understand her, anyway? Would she paint her answers? Would they wait for her to do it? Maybe she'd settle for a dry erase board.

Maybe I needed a smoke.

"You mind if I excuse myself for a moment? I figure I can't smoke in here."

"No, it would be bad for the works."

"Okay then. Do you mind waiting? I would actually like to continue this conversation."

She gave a small, sweet smile that didn't really mean much, other than it meant more than just simply nothing, "Sure, why not, it's a slow day. It is a weekday, after all, and yeah, I'm enjoying this, too." Perfect, she was just where I wanted her: liking me, but not too much.

I made a show of turning towards the front door, before stopping and asking, "Oh yeah, just one thing." I turned to face her, "Where do artists hang out?"

"Wait, what?"

I shrugged, "Where do artists hang out?"

She looked at me skeptically, "Is this a joke? As in, I say 'I don't know' and then you give a punchline?"

"Nope. You said it, art is a big investment. These people," I waved my hand around, "they interest me."

"'Interest' you? What does that mean?"

I scratched my head, trying hard to look honest, "Well, this whole art thing is pretty interesting. Not just the work, but the lifestyle, too. I've always lived a buttoned-up kind of life, and I was wondering about theirs. It just seems interesting, looking at their way of seeing the world."

"Well, your mere curiosity might end up costing you quite a bit, mister... I'm sorry, but I don't think I've caught your name yet."

"Nakai. And don't worry. I know I don't look it, especially since I was never one for showing off, but I can handle most things that are thrown at me, expense-wise."

"Well, if you don't mind me asking, what is it that you do, Mr. Nakai?"

"Medical research." I shrugged again.

She had an eyebrow raised, "Um, okay, but why...?"

"I always write the reports. I'm the best at writing the reports, keeping the journals, recounting the events, that sort of thing. It's probably because I'm the bookworm out of the bunch of us. I write things in a more 'interesting' kind of way then the usual dull drab you get. The thing is, I've actually taken a liking to writing, but those reports are just so _boring."_ I took out a smoke and started to tap in on my palm, "It kind of unnerves me. In order to do everything objectively, you have to, well, kind of 'zoom out' when it comes to people. Heh, I see I'm losing you, but bear with me. You can't afford to key in on person, or even one group. You have to treat the whole of humanity like, well, a beach. Except each little grain has friends, a lover, a family, dreams, and so much. But when you treat them as part of some big whole, you forget that. And then, you see something like...," I pointed at Rin's works, _"that. _That's something you can't really explain scientifically, and it reminds you that people are a lot more complex than a pure objective report would give you. We all have the same parts, the same organs, the same wiring, but we use it all so _differently._ I forgot that at some point, and art... it reminded me about people."

"So, what, you're writing about them?"

"Kind of a hobby, just collecting things on artists. Maybe I'll polish it up one day and try to get it out there, but for now, I've just got lots of notes and purple prose that needs axing. It'll probably just amount to me taking an interest in art. Never thought I would get into this, but, well..."

She sighed, but the smile was back. She obliged me, and I took out a little notepad and scribbled down the names of places she gave me. When it was all over, though, my lack of expression took her by surprise. I just nodded curtly, looking a little annoyed, even, and said I would be right back. I left her looking confused at my back as I walked outside. I made sure that she couldn't see me, and then I compared what she just said to me to the list Katagiri gave me. "Son of a bitch, that figures," I grumbled to myself. There were one or two that were different between the two, but they were mostly just the same. In short, she gave me what someone would give Katagiri. That was no good. The man had said it himself, he wouldn't mix well with that crowd. And hell, it was written all over his face, and stitched all in his clothes. I was going to have to needle this woman, and hope she would cough up something worthwhile. Hopefully my somewhat "upset" demeanor I just showed her would play in and help me: I had gambled by pretending to only made a show of taking down what she told me, because I already knew what she had given me was for the "tourists," and not worth my time. I practiced a few scowls by looking at my reflection in a window, picked one that looked annoyed but not too threatening, and headed back in.

She was still right where I left her. She took sight of me walking over with my hands in my pockets, looking somewhat stormy. I pretended to be a little shocked when she saw me, like I had been caught, and I was standing like I had changed my mind and was moving to leave again without saying a word to her. It worked, and she called out, "Hey! Hey, what's going on?"

I made a few indecisive noises, then skulked over, "Ahem, well, I was just... never mind, I've taken up enough of your time today, and I don't think I will be buying anything. I think I'll be on my way." I spoke quickly, like I wanted to end the conversation before it even started.

"Hey, wait! What's the matter?" She put a hand on my shoulder.

I sighed deeply, then turned to her, "Those really are all the places that you know?"

She looked baffled, "What? What's...?"

"Wrong? Oh, come now, either you think I am really that lost and new or that's really all you know. Either way, it's not going to do either of us any good." I sighed again, "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude, but it's been a long day, I've been riding subways and buses all over, and I really like to be heading back..."

Her grip on me got tighter, angrier, "What was that? What are you implying?" Her lips were drawing into a thin, straight line.

I widened my eyes a bit, "Oh, dear, I've upset you..."

"Yeah. So, you're too good for those places, eh?" She snatched the list I had just written out of my hand. "Mr. High-Roller here, all ready to head out into the art world, but can't name any terms, can't describe anything..."

"I prefer Mr. _Nakai,_ miss, and no, I can't name one term or name off the top of my head, but where I fail at one thing I make up for in another. I'm a _very_ thorough researcher, and even though I don't get your terms, I've been looking for people that could explain them to me."

She clicked her teeth together and narrowed her eyes. Then, with a "Hmph," she scribbled a name or two on the list before handing it back. She then turned on her heel and started to walk off. I had what I needed, but that's when I suddenly decided to go off script.

I hurried up to her retreating back, "Hey, wait a second."

She raised a hand and waved me away, without breaking pace, "Oh, piss off. You wanna dive head-first into the sea? Then be my guest..." Her clicking high-heels echoed sharply and painfully, taking jabs at my ear-drums.

I put a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped to turn and give me a look. Suddenly, I felt that I was making a mistake, but another part of me just couldn't let her walk off like that. She had seemed so relaxed, and I had lured her into that then shattered it, probably ruining the rest of her day, and it had only just turned noon, too. Nope, that was wrong; I caught a quick glance at my watch and saw that it was closer to two o' clock. I had spent hours in that place. The sudden realization made me bite my lip, and the next realization that I was just standing there with a hand on her without saying a word had me almost chew it off and swallow it. "Um, look, I'm... I'm sorry."

"Uh-huh." She didn't look impressed. She must have thought of me as some writer, all right.

"Look, I know I came in here playing it 'too cool for school,' but I've been getting slapped around all day, and... and I acted like a little kid when I didn't get what I wanted. That was stupid. No matter what, I didn't have the right to do that to you."

She rolled her eyes, "It's not that big of a deal."

I gulped. She was right, of course, but she didn't know the stakes that I was risking by trying to be a nice guy. I should have just left her feeling sour; trying to make up for it was suspicious and a sign of weakness, and plus, she was definitely going to remember my face. If enough people were able to recognize and remember me, word could get out. Rin might find out I was looking for her, and something told me that wasn't a good thing. For one of the very few times in my life, I was glad I had my condition, because if I ever actually tried to be a secret agent, I would have spent about a hundred years in a P.O.W camp. I tried my best to keep from stammering, "Yeah, well, no, I mean, you... you were the first decent person to me all day, and I treated you like crap." I held out my hand, she took it, and we shook them. "I really am sorry. And thank you, you were very helpful."

She sighed, then looked me up and down, studying me. Her eyes peeked at me over the edges of her sharp glasses, "But you still plan on skinny dipping in shark infested waters, huh?"

"My mother always told her friends about how I touched the stove the second time."

She broke into a smile and shook her head, releasing our hands. "Look, I'm not going to stop you, but... ugh, here." She wrote down a few more names for me, then reached into her jacket and pulled out a card, handing it to me. "I don't know why I'm doing this, but... just in case you need some help."

There was no way I was going to do that. She would never have anything to do with me and my current problems. But... but I still smiled and stuck it in my pocket. "Yeah. Heh, I really look that hopeless, huh?"

"Just about."

"Hmm." I turned to walk away, "Well, thanks," I pulled out and glanced at the card, "Misaki."

"Later, Nakai."

Once I was back in the thick of the mid-afternoon Tokyo smog, I jumped on a bus and kept on trucking, hitting all the places on Katagiri's, and only Katagiri's, list in order. I didn't really get very far: I asked about Tezuka, asked about her work, her early work, her current work, where she lived, and on, and on. I must have looked like a very competent, professional, and well-mannered stalker. I didn't even bother with a decent lunch, I just scavenged what I could out of a vending machine and ate it while walking down a side-street. And despite my frantic traveling all over town, like I said, I barely learned a damn thing. Next to no one knew anything about Tezuka's origins, or her "Nameless" works; it looked like she only just started to name her works around three years ago. A lot of those "Nameless" ones were never housed in a gallery, but a few were sold. And most of them were the ones she painted during and right after Yamaku. There was far more interest in her work after what they called the "Sky" period. No one knew a thing about her, though. Only a few people mentioned the fact that she had no arms, and it got to the point where I actually had to wonder if many people even knew about her disability. The way she was portrayed was that she was like a sort of phantom, someone who had emerged from nowhere, and started to paint and show off rather impressive and envied works. People knew the name, but not the person. It was dizzying how little they knew about someone they thought they knew so much about. I trudged back into my hotel room when the sun started to get low, and the instant I sat down, the telephone rang.

"Itoshki Counseling," I said into the receiver.

"So, I take it things didn't go so well," Katagiri spat back.

"What makes you say that?"

"I haven't known you for very long, Nakai, but you tend to get snippy when things don't go your way." I didn't have a reply, so Katagiri filled the void, "Anyway, it's getting rather late, so I was making sure that you would be coming out tonight."

"I was so touched when you asked me out before, Katagiri, that I wouldn't even dream of standing you up. Plus, why are you calling me here and not on my cell?"

"Are you kidding me? I've been trying to reach you for hours!"

I pulled out my phone and saw that it had died. "So much for technology," I muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. So what time, and what place?"


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, _screw it._ It's been over a month... I think. This chapter was originally between 1/3 or 1/2 of the_ actual_ next chapter. In short, it was originally just the first part of the next chapter. Maybe at some point I will combine all of them into one monster chapter, but I have to finish writing it first. But I don't want you to think I'm _not_ working on finishing this, though, and I especially don't want anyone to think I'm not writing at all. My brain has been all over the place on this one (that's this _story_, mind you), and I have not been writing it in a linear way. The ending, for instance, is mostly done; details just need to be filled in. Major scenes are also mostly done as well. I just need to _connect_ all of them. We're also talking 7000 to 15000 worth of words, here, that need to be linked up. And edited... _badly;_ like I said, 7000 to 15000 worth of words. A wee bit over... well, over-kill. I'm trying oh-so-hard to cut down on the purple prose. (Funny enough, that's probably why my stuff has gotten so short XD)

But since a bunch of people have started following this, I've decided to play nice and give you all something. Personally, I hate not getting updates from anything I'm following, whether it's a blog, a guy on YouTube, a Company, whatever. Even though I know I'm not super-duper famous or anything (I'm not even "kinda-sorta-a-little famous"), I would _hate hate hate_ to disappoint people, and even worse, string them along. So, without further ado, here's the next part. And don't worry, this isn't some throw away scrap or anything. I've re-read and edited this part so much I could probably recite it by heart.

And thanks to everyone that's following me! Not just this story, but everything I do! Seriously, that means a lot. :)

Also, as usual, feedback is _greatly_ appreciated. I'm an entertainer, albeit a sloppy one, so any feedback on how _you _feel about any of this is welcome.

* * *

There's nothing like a fancy restaurant. Even if you've never been able to make it past that lovely red rope, you've been in there. You already know. Trust me. You aren't missing much, anyway, except that feeling you get when you realize you've wasted far too much money in one go. And you're still hungry on top of that.

There weren't so many tables back where we were; there was plenty of space between parties, so we didn't have to listen to anyone else, and they wouldn't hear us. Not that they would have cared either way; they were far too busy enjoying the fact that it was a socially acceptable time to nurse their hangovers.

I was sitting across from a man whose face was part flushed and mostly white mustache. Thick white eyebrows were settled across his eyes, powerful looking, ready to spring and wrestle each other over his nose. He was stuffed in a beige suit, with his loud personality trying to burst out of it.

I suppose I could just be nice and call him portly and boisterous.

Next to him was a woman who I figured was his wife; it was either that or his favorite blue peacock. Katagiri was on my right, as sharp and gray as ever.

The ruddy man, whose name was Otomo Nozomu, took another sip at his drink, then looked at me square, "Well, it's been a hell of a week, hasn't it?"

"I suppose." I nibbled a bit at some bread. I hadn't ordered anything myself, much to everyone's chagrin. I wasn't hungry, and on top of that, I didn't feel like owing Otomo anything.

Katagiri nodded to what Otomo said, "Yes, it's been somewhat exciting ever since Nakai has joined our little search-party, but all the same, we haven't come up with a single lead."

Otomo nodded gravely. His wife pinched at his arm and spoke up, "Oh, don't worry, I'm sure she just wandered off. Maybe she found a man."

I gave her a look, "You think she wandered off to shack up with some guy?"

I could tell she didn't like my word usage from her tart tone, "Well, it would do her good. The poor thing always locks herself away in her little apartment with no one but Katagiri and her nurse for company. She is so detached as it is, a little relaxation and distraction would do her... would do her good." For someone who was so haughty when it came to language, she sure liked to talk in circles. "Maybe she would lose a bit of her... edge?" She puzzled over her words, what little of them she had left. "She can be so strange. But a girl with a mind like that can do wondrous things with a brush. She's practically born to do it."

I ignored a good portion of that, "Wait, Rin has a nurse?"

Otomo scoffed, "Of course! Why wouldn't she?"

"I... I didn't think that would be necessary. I mean, after all, back in school, she didn't have one."

Otomo looked at me as if I had just started undressing at the table while keeping a straight face, "But, she _did_ have one in school."

I was all ready to protest this when I felt Katagiri touch my arm, and while looking at Otomo, "Nakai probably means back in high-school, in which case, yes, he is correct. Tezuka had a friend back then who was able to help her with most things. The staff also helped her on occasion, when her friend... couldn't."

I blinked at Katagiri. I had no idea that Rin had been reliant on the staff like that. After all, one of our first conversations had been about... well, it had taken place during the festival, and I had accidentally pulled a rather "private" matter out into the light like an ass. Which I have a habit of doing.

Katagiri spoke to me, "She didn't really like the staff. She wasn't too fond of the former nurse, either, despite the fact that he got on so well with her friend. She said something about how that man was always wearing a mask, and he scared her the same way clowns did." Katagiri looked down at his plate, and half-sighed the rest, "We then talked about cotton-candy for the next hour."

Otomo's wife leaned back into a sudden peal of laughter. Talk about fear. "Oh my, that's just what I mean! She needs a _man_, and oh so badly, even if only for a short while."

Katagiri continued, "After high-school, though, she really had no choice but to get 'help.' Her parents were able to afford it, being that Tezuka had earned more than a handful of scholarships, not to mention certain types of financial-aid due to her 'condition' and her time at Yamaku. She was even able to get her own apartment, which was at her request, as I understand it. It's still her current one, as well."

I asked, "So, she's had this nurse a long time, huh? What does... he? Or probably _she,_ know?"

Katagiri shook his head, "If you mean that first nurse in particular, I'm afraid that _she_ is no longer around. She left Miss Tezuka's employ some time ago, and long before this incident. The current one has already been thoroughly questioned, so you needn't waste your time, Nakai."

"Why'd she leave? She get fired?"

Katagiri fidgeted, then gave me an apologetic smile, "Well, she had certain disagreements, and left because of them. I really don't know too much about it, to be honest."

"You think she still might be in the picture? I don't think it's a good idea to just write her off like that."

"No," Katagiri was quite insistent, "We're quite certain she isn't involved in this. She left on very disagreeable terms." He shrugged and sipped at his coffee, "You know, rather raised voices and all that, if you catch my meaning."

Otomo's wife moved to say something, but I only let her get as far as an inhale, "Wait, that would put her right at the top of my list. Well, maybe not all the way at the top, being that I don't know how angry she was and what it was all about, but if someone had any reason to harm Tezuka..."

Katagiri's face sharpened, "I've told you before, Nakai, we don't think that is the case."

"And why the hell not? Like _you_ said, you told me _just_ that, without a single reason as to _why_ you think so. For all we know, Tezuka is dead." And cue the dramatic sip from my... water with lemon slice.

Otomo's wife inhaled again, bringing a hand to her mouth. If she did that one more time without release, she'd pop like a balloon. Maybe that's why her eyes were so wide. Katagiri's mouth drew into a thin, tight, line. Otomo kept blank for a second, and then chuckled, "Nakai, has anyone ever told you that you might be a little too serious for your own good?"

That remark got me to chip my teeth on my glass, and the sound of the strike moved Otomo to say, "Come, come now, Nakai, relax. Why not have a drink with me to calm your nerves?" He motioned for the waiter and ordered two glasses of something-or-other. I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy snorting and sulking, thoroughly defeated. Come, come. Who the hell says "Come, Come"? I mean, come on, come on.

The waiter hurried back and set a couple of glasses in front of us. I gave mine a look, and Otomo smiled wide, "Please, Nakai, indulge me. My wife likes to stick to wine and Katagiri here abstains from any sort of alcohol. Hell, part of the reason I was so agreeable to you joining us was that I thought I would finally be able to enjoy myself!" He let out a hearty laugh. What a funny town I was in. I raised my glass with him, and we both drank down a fair bit of it. It tasted like paint thinner mixed with all the sweat and tears collected during a traumatic childhood. And bitters. Lots of bitters.

Otomo let out a happy sigh when he put the glass back down and asked, "How much do you know about Miss Tezuka's career?"

"Not much," I said, shaking the slight dizziness out of my head. "Anything I have learned about it I only just found out today. I really didn't talk to Tezuka much during the end of high-school, which is around the time she started to get off the ground, I guess."

"How close were you two?" Otomo asked.

I drummed my fingers on the glass before drinking some more, "Pretty close, I guess. Tezuka is a hard one to get close to, but I'm pretty sure you all know that."

"Yes, all too well," Otomo chuckled. "Didn't you help her back then? You were sort of her assistant, weren't you?"

I huffed my own chuckle, "Sure, I carried some of her stuff a couple of times, mixed a bit of paint here and there." I took down some more of my drink. "But, after a while, she didn't need me anymore. She was just _so_ busy with her work, that we didn't have time to talk, even. And on more than one occasion, she asked to be left completely alone. No calls, no visits, no post, _nothing._ She stayed all alone in her little atelier, living out her little dream." I killed my drink. "Or stereotype."

Otomo finished his drink as well, "Not bitter, are we, Nakai?"

"What would make you say that?" Otomo went to say something, but I kept going, "Things looked like they weren't going to work out. Like we've been saying all night to each other, we all know how Rin can get. Some people can leave the room without their body leaving the room. Nobody's home until you pinch their arm. Well, Tezuka can be looking you straight in the eye, but her mind has gone and jumped over a chasm without looking back. And good luck finding her."

Katagiri nodded while looking at me, and spoke softly, "Yes, that is Tezuka."

"Yeah, charming girl, to be sure." I reached for more bread.

Otomo sat there for a moment with his hand on his chin, and then ordered two more drinks for himself and I. He spoke in a loud but amiable tone, "Well, Nakai, I guess I could help fill in the gaps between the last time you saw her and where we are currently. I'm not too sure it will help, but you never know."

"Yes, I do have to admit, I am pretty curious as to how Tezuka managed to get her little slice of popularity."

Otomo snorted. He wasn't shouting, but his voice was a little louder, and much sharper. "Little?" He shook his head, "What do you mean by that? Little?" He spat the word as if it tasted wrong to him.

I slowly blinked, "Well, I... I don't know, it's just..."

"Just what? Miss Tezuka is quite well known, and you should have found that out for yourself today. Or have you not been looking as hard as you claim?"

"Well, yeah, people know Tezuka, but she isn't a household name. I mean, she's up in galleries and stuff, but it's not like she's a star pitcher or any..." Wow. Just wow. Could I have honestly found a worse occupation to compare Rin to? Outside of wrist-watch model? Just what the hell made me think that?

"Or what?"

"Or, uh, anything." I folded my hands on the table in an attempt to save face. I then buried my glass into that same face.

"That girl...," Otomo practically snarled. Katagiri cleared his throat, and Otomo settled down some, taking a sip from his glass. Otomo then smiled, and said, "I'm so sorry I got worked up there, Nakai. You see, it hasn't been very easy for Tezuka. In fact, she can only get so far by herself. I'm not talking about daily routines, either. There's a reason why people know who she is. I helped put her works in those galleries, Nakai. I worked very hard to get them in there, in front of all those eyes. The girl deserves it, of course, she's a very hard worker, but she isn't the only one who has a stake in all of this."

"We all work together," Katagiri said. "Like a team."

Otomo nodded at him, "Yes, like a team. You see, someone needs to talk with these galleries, someone needs to let people know that the works exist, and someone has to make sure that no one gets cheated. It's a tough world, Nakai, and sometimes a very stressful line of work."

"Yes, very," Katagiri said.

I shrugged, "Why do it, then? If it's such a bother, I mean."

Otomo smiled, "It's quite rewarding. I'd hate to just back out now, just when I have finally started to get everything off the ground."

I leaned a bit over the table, "So, have you been doing this long, then?"

Both of them seemed taken aback. Otomo then spoke, "Well, yes, for a few years now. I got into this after buying a few pieces out of curiosity."

"Huh," I replied. "What'd you buy?"

Otomo waved his hand as if he was pushing cobwebs out sight, "I've sold those long ago, Nakai. I'm sorry, I can't say that I remember."

"You sold them? Why?"

Otomo shrugged, "They just... they just didn't really serve any purpose, anymore."

"What? You get bored of them or something?"

Otomo's wife piped up, "Oh, he's buying and selling all the time. I usually don't care, but I do have to ask Nozomu, do your tastes really change that often? I mean, it's not _that_ much of a bother, but when you have those things moved in and out and hung or what-have-you, it just disturbs the general peace of our home, wouldn't you say?"

Otomo turned to her with his eyes narrowed, but his tone was joking, "Why do you ask? Afraid of _your_ future in said home?"

"Well, I'd be glad to go at that point, being that your tastes will have become so poor." She giggled and he laughed lightly.

I asked, "Just how much work have you put into Tezuka's career?"

Otomo closed his eyes and nodded sagely, "Well, let's start at the beginning, like I promised. I was talking about how Miss Tezuka has had more than a few hardships as she's advanced over the years. As my wife pointed out before, Tezuka has more than just a 'knack' or 'talent' for what she does. It's more like painting is an extension of Tezuka herself. One could not live without the other, I am quite certain of that. There really isn't much she can do, otherwise. Again, to quote my wife, Tezuka is _born _for this. Still, that fact in and of itself is not enough to get by with. She had all that raw power inside of her when she started, but no way to control it. She really lacked a lot of direction, with many of her very early paintings just unnamed of all things! Unnamed, and pretty much indescribable! Composed excellently on a technical level, but only to a certain extent, being that the works didn't really 'lead' anywhere. They also weren't anything too new. I hate to say it, but abstraction has been around for quite some time, so they were mostly ignored. Not even I know too much about her work during that time. Still, she shone."

"A real diamond in the rough," chimed in Katagiri. Otomo nodded at him, "Very much. The girl needed a lot of work, but at that stage, it was too early to tell if she was going to fizz out or not. She had made a splash when she was still in school—and that's _art_ school—so some people were keeping an eye on her after she graduated. No one was willing to risk anything on her for quite some time, though." He gulped from his glass, "You always look for graduates that have been out at least five years."

"Why five years?" I said that more to the bottom of my glass.

"Well," Otomo answered, "Usually less than five percent of graduates really make anything worthwhile or meaningful after that point." He guzzled some more, then continued, "I remember being goaded into showing my face at an exhibition where some of her works were being displayed, and I actually got to meet and talk with her for a few moments. She _really_ put me off at first. Almost _everything_ she said was utterly incoherent. _Very _unprofessional, and now that I think about it, quite unbecoming. She just seemed... so... well, childish. When she was pressed about her work, she would just go on about 'translating' or some non-sense. I remember the exhibition had lot's of butterfly paintings. She had been painting that sort of thing for a long while, in what people now call Tezuka's 'Sky' period. The people who looked at them said they felt like they were flying free over the world. It was all very novel, but it wasn't bringing her anywhere worthwhile, and more importantly, wasn't bringing her into my confidence." Otomo shrugged, sipped, and continued, "She would always babble about 'perspectives' and people's viewpoints, and that's what the whole 'translating' business was about, I don't know." He shrugged. I grunted something. Nobody at the table cared. Otomo kept going, "Someone pressed her to go with that theme. She focused on it, and well...," he smiled wide, "that's what got her famous."

"What... theme? The sky?" It took my brain a second to load the rest of that sentence. I rubbed my eyes, feeling my chest start to get tight. My fingers were nervously playing with my matches, and clumsily, at that.

"Well, how she viewed things," said Otomo. "Translating! Or whatever she calls it now. That's what really caught my eye, what made her stand out." Another long sip, and it left him with a bigger smile, "Before, I figured that all the fuss was about her... disadvantages. She also had technique, incredible technique, but like I said, nothing really to say. It was all a mess that no one could understand. All style and no substance. But then, she started to, to, well, _transform_ the world around her. She focused on things that were easy to recognize, but she added some of her... flair, her view, or her," he nodded at his wife, "her _edge,_ I guess you could say. It's quite difficult to put into words."

"Please try."

Otomo pondered his words for a moment, then spoke with sweeping gestures,"Well, a busy street would become... something else. Politics became otherworldly. Stores became alien landscapes. That girl has _wit,_ I tell you. Satire, comedy, sadness, she can bring it all out of the world around her. Lay everything bare. It's quite incredible." Another sip. "Transforming what we recognize into something that at first seems bizarre, but then it becomes even more recognizable. She is able to see the true face of everyone and everything. That's when I realized," he said while proudly puffing out his chest, "there was more to her than her disability." He plunked the empty glass down with a flourish, "It really caught people's attention. Heh, with any luck, it can be used as a snapshot of this time!"

"A... what?" I badly needed coffee. And to be away.

Katagiri popped back in, "Over time, Miss Tezuka's work will be... nostalgic. That's very good, very valuable."

"Yes, yes!" said Otomo. "Of how we all felt about certain things, and show the future what we thought at that period in time! More than just valuable! And more than just secure!" He then looked saddened, and folded his hands on the table. He spoke somewhat softly—for _him_, anyway—while he was looking down at them, "She is just starting to get close to her peak. Maybe. I hope I'm wrong, of course. Who knows where someone like her will peak! I was hoping to be there for every step of her journey, but now..." He let it trail off, looking over everyone's head like a widow gazing out to sea. I could almost see the one lone tear falling down his cheek. Such things don't happen in real life, of course. There's always, like, _so_ much snot when people cry. It's disgusting. True measure of love, to wipe all that crap up.

Just what the hell was I thinking about? Goddammit, twice in one hour...

I went to get up, but couldn't. I needed a second to grab both corners of the room to try and keep it from rocking back and forth. No one seemed to notice or care. Par never really was that exciting.

Otomo spoke, "I hope she's all right. I don't know what I would do if something were to happen to her."

"Boy," I said, "she sure is lucky to have someone like you looking out for her."

Otomo turned to me, looking quite stern, "I've given her everything that she needs, out of my own pocket, no less. I've had to fight and finagle her into every respectable gallery in Tokyo. Sure, my name carries more than just a little weight, but these people...," he shook his head in a resigned manner, "Nakai, you don't understand how unreasonable these people can be sometimes. They have their little club, and the hoops they expect you to jump through can be some of the most painful and degrading things you can ever hope to do. I try my damnedest to keep Tezuka away from all that. She just wants to paint, and paint, and paint." He raised his empty glass and contemplated it, "And I give her that ability."

We all sat there in silence for a few moments. Katagiri then cleared his throat, "Well, I think it's about time we called it an evening, don't you think?"

"Quite right, Katagiri," Otomo said. He looked to his wife, "Are you ready darling?" She cooed something back, and I stood up, "Well, thanks for the meal, Otomo. I'll try _my_ damnedest to find Tezuka." We shook hands, and I turned to leave. But after a thought, I turned back and asked, "It's really _that_ hard out there? Even for someone like her?"

"You have no idea, Nakai," Otomo spoke gravely. "The talent, or even in Tezuka's case, that _gift,_ is nowhere near and never enough."

I stood there with my hands in my pockets, chewing things over. I thought about Rin, kneeling on the floor that night in the atelier, sweat drenched, with nothing but her unbuttoned shirt on. I thought about lighting cigarettes for her, and my first smoke. I thought about how sad Saionji and Nomiya would look sometimes. I thought about Emi at her Emi-est. And then I went back to a sweat-chilled, naked, and lonely Rin, destroying herself.

"I'll find her," I said. "I _will_ find her."

Otomo nodded at me, and his wife flashed me a smile. I didn't return either, and walked away, weaving through the tables towards the front. I'd catch the occasional glance from the clientele. It was getting harder and harder for me to see anything in the low lighting, but that made me move faster. I wanted out.

I made it past the head waiter, and was standing in the entrance-way to the place. I tried not to look up. Large and ornate chandeliers hung above, slightly dimmed, looking as lively and glamorous as foppish suicidals whose necks hadn't broken completely. I knew that if I made eye-contact, it was all over. I desperately needed a drink, a smoke, a life, and someone to hold close. What I got was a firm grip on my shoulder, a spin, and a face-full of Katagiri. "I hope you don't find this too intrusive, Nakai, but what are your plans for the rest of the evening?" He didn't look all that pleased at me.

I shrugged, "I don't know. Like I said to you on the phone, these people are probably night-owls. I figured I would scope out a club or bar or coffee-house or whatever."

"Oh, really? And then what about tomorrow?"

"I get up and hit the pavement all over again. What's it to you, anyway?"

He actually laughed at that, "Oh, I don't know, Nakai, it's just that is has been a week since you joined, and you haven't made any real progress, as well as the fact that if you get burned out, you won't make _any_ progress at all."

"Stop calling it a week, Katagiri. Being melodramatic won't get anyone anywhere."

His face twisted into mock confusion, "Oh? I guess I shall wait for midnight. That way it will be a proper week."

A very small part of me felt a bit cold. The majority ignored it, of course, because it hadn't caught on yet, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Katagiri studied me seriously, "Nakai, are you drunk?"

"What?" My turn to laugh. Nervously. "Maybe I'm a little tipsy, but I'm not totally far-gone."

He seemed to get more serious, which started to get more and more of me nervous. He was studying me so intently, and I had no idea why. He said his next bit slowly, and very carefully, "Nakai, it's probably a _very_ good idea for you to go straight back to your hotel. We've wasted six days already. We need you in top form. Did you already forget the promise you just made?"

Something wasn't right.

Something was wrong.

Very, _very_ wrong.

I licked my lips, realized what I was doing, then tried my best to be amiable, "Has it really been six days?"

Katagiri took a step back. He was looking at me differently, but I couldn't tell you how. He spoke slowly again, "Six days ago, I spoke to you at Jay's Bar. I didn't talk to you again until this morning. I called you, but you didn't answer. So, yes, Nakai, it has been almost a week."

Two days.

I hadn't gone to work for _two_ days.

Right?

Please. Please be right. That's what I thought to myself.

But right then, deep down, I _knew_ I was wrong. I still glanced down at my phone, pretending to check the time and not the date, despite the fact that the hand that held my phone was the same arm my watch was on.

_Five_ days. I hadn't gone to work for _five_ days.

I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my neck, and I instinctively swiped at it. I tried to laugh off the tension, but it probably made me look crazier. "Well, time sure does fly, doesn't it?" I tried smiling. I probably shouldn't have.

Katagiri just nodded.

I looked at my watch, then at my phone in another failed save, "Well, I have about an hour and a half until you're right, Katagiri. I guess I should be heading back now."

"Yes. It would put me quite at ease."

I nodded at him and walked off. I could still feel his stare on my back even after I stepped outside. I knew then what the look on his face had been: it was the same tense look a man gets when he is confronted with a wild and unpredictable animal.


End file.
